We Will Go On
by RipredtheGnawer
Summary: The war is over, the Capitol has been defeated, but the Girl on Fire and the Boy with the Bread still struggle to pick up the pieces. Rated T for later chapters.
1. Chapter 1: Sing it

**About a month after Katniss and Peeta begin their memory book. And I'm sorry, I love this song!**

"Peeta? Are you all right?" I touch his shoulder; feel how taut the muscle is. His head snaps up and his grip on the chair tightens. His knuckles go white. "What's wrong?"

"Just – wait," he chokes out, and as I come around to face him, I see in his eyes the tortured look that I thought was gone forever. I take a step back. A long moment passes before he lets out his breath in a slow hiss between his teeth.

"Peeta?" I repeat.

"Katniss," he says. His tone is relieved but uncertain – careful. He unclenches his fingers. "I'm so sorry."

"Sorry for what? Peeta, what happened?" What could cause him so much pain?

"I – I remembered," he says, still cautious. "I didn't want to, but suddenly I was just _there_ – back in my cell in the Capitol. I'm so sorry, Katniss," he says again.

"Come with me," I say gently, and take his hand. I hold on tightly so that he will stay here with me. I guide him to the sofa, make him sit down. "Can I help?" I ask when I'm seated beside him. He doesn't answer, just leans into me.

We stay there for a few minutes. I think about what has just happened. _Back in the Capitol_, he said. The Capitol, where he was hijacked. Where he thought I was trying to kill him. The scene flashes before my eyes: he runs toward me, reaching out, just as I do to him. But his fingers go not to my face, but to my throat. And they squeeze.

I blink and come back to myself. The living room of my house in District 12. The Victor's Village. Panem. Then I remember the person next to me. His eyes are closed. He begins to hum and I recognize the tune. Without thinking, I sing the words.

_Every night in my dreams_

_ I see you, I feel you_

_ That is how I know you go on._

This song has brought us endless comfort since the end of the war. Perhaps it will help now.

_ Far across the distance and spaces between us_

_ You have come to show you go on._

_ Near, far, wherever you are,_

_ I believe that the heart does go on._

_ Once more, you open the door_

_ And you're here in my heart_

_ And my heart will go on and on._

It's an old song. Nobody knows its origins but we like to think about it. The words speak of sadness but also of hope, something that we all desperately need.

_ Love can touch us one time_

_ And last for a lifetime_

_ And never let go 'til we're gone._

Peeta sighs, his hands twisting together. I wonder what he's thinking – is he still lost in flashbacks?

_ Love was when I loved you_

_ One true time I hold to_

_ That is how I know you go on._

_ Near, far, wherever you are,_

_ I believe that the heart does go on._

_ Once more, you open the door_

_ And you're here in my heart_

_ And my heart will go on and on._

As the last note dies away, I look over and see him gazing at me. "Thank you," he says, "That was beautiful."

"Anytime," I answer. And go back up the stairs.


	2. Chapter 2: Dream it

I_ run as fast as I can, the darkness pressing in on my eyes. The trees reach out with their twisted fingers, pulling at my clothes. No arrows can stop them. Thorns tear my skin but still I keep running because it does no good to stop. Finally the forest ends and my feet drum on the flat, even ground. On and on and on._

_ I can feel what is coming. The air is cooler and there is a wind. But I go forward. My feet snap against something and I sprawl on the ground, still sliding. As I fall I discover that it is a trip wire. And I have tripped it._

_ Screaming, screaming, screaming, the ground disappears and I fall into the deep black nothingness that does nothing to end my fear. Then I feel the jolt of electricity that sends me into spasms. I can't stop screaming._

"Katniss! Katniss, wake up!" My eyes snap open and gaze into clear pools of blue, ringed by sunlight. The blue is worried but not as worried as I am. Why does the screaming continue?

Then I realize: it's me. The sound breaks off when I gasp for air. The pools of blue blink and Peeta moves away slightly. "Nightmare?" he asks. I nod, unable to speak. "It's all right, it wasn't real."

But it was all too real for my taste, and I reach out. After a moment's hesitation, Peeta wraps his arms around me. Pulls me close. His heat soothes me and slows my shaking. As the night wears on and slowly turns to morning, I find that he's right. The dream wasn't real. But Peeta's embrace, though uncertain, is.


	3. Chapter 3: Forget it

For the longest time, Peeta and I live side by side with little trouble. There are the usual nightmares and flashbacks, but no more. I hunt daily. The birdsong and rustling of leaves is calming. The only bird that I avoid is the mockingjay. Its black spots and high-pitched call bring too many bad memories to mind.

Haymitch checks up on us regularly. Sometimes he's incoherent, drunk as ever, with a knife clutched in his hand. Or subdued with tear tracks on his face. Once he came very hung-over and yelling at things only he could see. It took us hours to restore him.

But one day there's a knock on the door and Peeta answers it. I'm upstairs, writing a letter to my mother, when he calls. "Katniss, there's someone here for you." I hurry down, wondering who it is. I pull up short when I see him. Much the same as he was months ago. Grey eyes still gleaming. Still muscular and tall.

"Gale," I say. I don't allow myself to think about the way I left him. The look on his face. _"Does it matter? You'll always be thinking about it."_ The parachutes. The flames. Prim-

"Catnip," he replies in an odd tone. "It's been a while."

"Yeah." The space between us seems too small. I don't know what to say. "What's up?" For some reason, I want him out of my house.

"Nothing much. I'm on my way to Thirteen for some… business. I just figured I'd check in on you guys." The way he says it makes me think that he'd rather not check up on "us guys". Just me.

"Well, we're fine." This is Peeta, and once I might have been upset with him for speaking to Gale like this. But I wish he'd been harsher right now.

"Great." Gale looks at me with something like sadness in his eyes. "Well, I'll be off." He turns around and steps down from the door.

I watch him walk away and find myself moving forward. "Wait!"

He stops and turns slightly. "Yes?"

What? What can I say that will erase the wrongs I have done to him? "Nothing. Sorry." I am sorry. Sorry that I will never know what might have happened, had I ignored who dropped the parachutes. So I stand there as Peeta shuts the door. After a few seconds, I cross to the window and look out. Gale pauses in the act of walking down the street, as if he can sense my gaze. He looks back, still with sorrow on his face. Catching me staring after him, he shakes his head slightly. Then he turns away. Keeps walking. Breaks into a run.

I continue to watch long after he's vanished. I didn't want it to end like this. I remember the whipping, the thoughts I had then. But Peeta breaks into my memories by putting a hand on my back. "Come on, Katniss. Let's go." So I let him lead me back upstairs, where I sit down, pick up the pen, and resume my writing.


	4. Chapter 4: Believe it

"Hello?" I ask as I pick up the phone.

"Katniss, it's Delly. How are you?"

"I'm great. I got your letter – it's nice that you've found Jason. He sounds wonderful." I hope my voice doesn't betray the jealously that I feel.

"Oh, he is. He's very kind." She pauses and then adds, "Our wedding's in July. Would you like to come?"

"Of course," I half-lie. "I'd love to."

"I saw your mother yesterday." Delly moved to District 4 because she likes the ocean. She helps out in the hospital occasionally.

"How is she? She looked a little… ill… the last time I saw her." That's an understatement. She was pale and feverish, sobbing her heart out over my sister. Even after half a year, the wounds still throb.

"She's not doing so well. She took the day off of work and stopped by my house. Said she couldn't take it."

"Oh." I'm not exactly surprised. Dr. Aurelius said he expected her to have some kind of breakdown sooner or later.

"She's right here. She wants to speak to you. Do you have the time?"

"Yes." There's a slight pause while the phone switches hands.

"Katniss?"

"Hey, Mom."

"Katniss, I – I don't know what to do! Everything I see, everything I hear. It all reminds me of – of-"

"Of her." We don't need to speak her name.

"Yes," she whispers.

"Me, too. Maybe…" I think for a moment. "Maybe you could help Annie out."

"Annie who?" Goodness, she must have forgotten.

"Annie Cresta, Mom. Remember?"

"Oh! Yes. She needs help?"

"Yeah, with the baby. She says Finn's a little hard to manage by herself. I could call her and ask if she minds having you stay… if it's all right with you?"

"Sure. That would be – nice." I hear her say, away from the phone, "Here you go, Delly. Thanks."

"Can you help her?"

"Oh, yeah. Yeah. She'll probably be out in a few days at the latest. She won't be any trouble, will she? I mean, does… does Jason mind?" I think my broken heart shows in my voice, because Delly's tone grows pitying.

"Jason understands. I have to go, but Katniss, don't give up. You'll find someone eventually. You'll see." Then she hangs up, leaving me clinging to the echoes lost in static.


	5. Chapter 5: Help it

Katniss Ruth Everdeen!" Haymitch's voice is muted but still very loud as he bangs on the door of my house. "You get out here _now_!"

"What?" I call through the wood. He's caught me at a very bad moment, just out of the shower. I didn't hear him at first, and apparently he's been out here for an hour.

"Open up and I'll tell you," he growls.

I sigh and do as he says, revealing my bathrobe in all its early-morning glory. "What?" I repeat.

Haymitch raises his eyes at my garments, but otherwise ignores it. "Got a drink?" he asks.

"Um, maybe. Why?" In the yard behind him, geese are everywhere.

"I'm out. What do you mean, maybe? You always have _something_." Haymitch doesn't look too good. Bags under his eyes, unshaven, very grubby. And I don't think he's washed his clothes in days.

"No, I _used_ to have something. Before you said you'd stop drinking. Wait here." I hurry away and find the wine I ended up with after the war. Returning to the door, I shove it in his arms. "There. Now, can I go get dressed?"

"Whatever. And thanks, sweetheart." Haymitch flashes a grin at someone behind me and leaves. I close the door and turn around, still giving a start even though I know Peeta is there. He moves so quietly now.

"Hi," I say. "You can help him out next time."

"There'll be a next time?" he asks.

"For sure. Hey, are you all right?"

Peeta's eyes finally meet mine and I see that he's miserable. Most likely has just escaped from a flashback. "No. Never will be."

"You don't know that," I argue, placing a hand on his cheek. "Don't condemn yourself."

"I'll try not to," he says. "Just… keep telling me that, please."

"As long as I'm here, I'll remind you," I promise.

"Thank you," he says, and walks away down the hall. At the end, he looks back. "For more than you know."


	6. Chapter 6: Swear it

**A/N: Wow, haven't updated this in a while. Here it goes again. And, yeah, this is slightly warped because Annie was supposed to have her son AFTER the book was mostly finished, but I'm not editing that!**

I got the idea from my mother's plant book. That place where we recorded those things you cannot trust to memory. The page begins with the person's picture. A photo if we can find it. If not, a sketch or painting by Peeta. Then, in my most careful writing, come all the details it would be a crime to forget. Lady licking Prim's cheek. My father's laugh. Peeta's father with the cookies. The color of Finnick's eyes. What Cinna could do with a length of silk. Boggs reprogramming the Holo. **Rue, poised on her toes, arms slightly extended, like a bird about to take flight...**

* * *

My tear drips on the page, and I move away so I won't damage anything. But I can't tear my eyes from the sketch of the small girl, dark hair and golden eyes aglow. Poised on her toes. Just as she was in real life, only now I will never see her again. This wound is so deep. It cuts to my core.

"You loved her, didn't you?" Peeta's voice is sympathetic, as always. He is never harsh or skeptical, not even immediately after tortured flashbacks.

"Yes," I whisper. "I didn't know her at all, but I loved her."

"She would have been hard not to love, I think. If one knew her…" he trails off, continuing to draw.

"Peeta?" I ask after a few moments.

"Hmm?"

"Was I wrong to be her ally? Would Marvel have found her if I hadn't sent her to light those fires?" This question has preyed on me for ages. If anyone can answer it, Peeta can.

He thinks a long time before speaking. "I think that if Marvel didn't find her, Cato would have. Or someone else." His voice is too gentle to hurt. "I think you gave her a gift. You gave her hope, if only for a few hours. That counts for something."

"Really?"

"Yes." He works on the sketch for a few minutes before continuing. "It wasn't your fault, Katniss. Even I know that."

Even him. Even the boy who wanted to kill me, who thought I was capable of killing him and the rest of the world. If even this poor, broken mess of a person – although he cannot hold a candle to my dilapidated shell – if even he is sure, then it must be true. I must not be responsible for this.

"I promise, Rue," I whisper almost inaudibly. "I promise that you didn't die for nothing. I will make it count. I swear to it."

The tears still run down my cheeks, though. Nothing can stop them. Nothing will ever be able to stop them.

* * *

**A/N: if you have any requests... leave them in the reviews! And even if you're not requesting, PLEASE review! It makes me very, very happy. You have no idea. Seriously.**


	7. Chapter 7: Give it

**A/N: Sorry this update is so long in coming! And thanks to RosieBarret, Leia96, and all the rest of you for being such an outstanding audience!**

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"Katniss!" There's someone at the door. Not just someone – I know that voice. Always so happy. Some things, I think, will never change.

"Hey, Delly," I say as I let her in. It's a week before the wedding and she said she didn't want a traditional white gown, so I offered up what few dresses I've got.

As we stand in front of the closet, Delly turns to me with suspiciously liquid eyes. "Oh, Katniss," she murmurs. "Are these…?"

I nod, unable to speak his name, though it's been a year and a half since I learned of his death. My lovely, enigmatic, self-sacrificing, and terribly brave stylist. Cinna. I suck in a sharp breath.

"I'm not sure… should I really…?" She's unable to form complete sentences, just as uncertain as I am.

"No, go ahead, Delly," I insist. "They're not meant to be sitting forgotten, growing dusty. Wear one of them."

"You're positive it's all right?"

"Yes." No.

"Okay, then." She considers the fine garments for a few moments. "I think the blue one is exactly what I'm looking for." It's a strapless gown studded with hundreds of miniscule diamonds. Beautiful. I remember wearing it in District 5 on my victory tour.

She tries it on and twirls around the room for a bit, and I sit down because I think my legs may give out. The full power of Cinna's work has hit me, reminding me more than ever before that its master is gone from the world. Delly, with her pasty face, is not a great looker. But I should have known that the hands which made my Mockingjay suit can make anyone shine, and Delly Cartwright is no exception.

Peeta walks in, stopping short at the sight of Delly giggling in her borrowed finery. "Wow. That's really something," he says. His eyes move over her appreciatively, and for some reason, this rubs me the wrong way. But then he turns to me and offers me a cheese bun – which I accept – and my worries fall away.

"Yeah, she's stunning," I agree. And although it pains me to see Cinna's ghost in the fabric, I have to smile. Because my stylist, although dead, will never be forgotten. His essence is so strong here, where Delly gives happiness to the clothing that I cared zip about. At last, they're being used as they were intended to be.


	8. Chapter 8: Celebrate it

**A/N: I'm a little iffy about this chapter. Not too proud of it... hopefully the next one will be better!**

* * *

"You may kiss your bride," the marriage maker announces, and the watching crowd cheers as Jason takes Delly in his arms and kisses her gently. I clap along with those around me, and notice that the person next to me, Annie Cresta, has tears running down her face. She holds her son close as she cries silently.

"Oh, Annie," I whisper, and touch her arm. She looks up and I give her what I hope is a sympathetic smile. How hard it must be for her. Then I hear muffled sobs from my other side. I turn to see my mother with her face buried in a handkerchief.

Too much crying. As much as the celebration renews my own pain, I can at least hold it in. I understand Annie – she's mentally unstable, after all – but my mother should be stronger. I feel an echo of the pain I felt as a little girl when she left me and – and Prim.

Maybe I understand her better than I think.

The reception is nice, to say the least. Peeta has gone all-out on the wedding cake and frosted little flowers everywhere. It's quite pretty and Delly is ecstatic.

"Oh, oh!" she gasps when she sees it. "Peeta, it's beautiful!" And it really is.

The dance floor is just a patch of grass ringed by torches. There are none of the traditional bride-father and groom-mother dances as both have lost their parents to the Capitol. They dance with each other instead for a few minutes before insisting that we join them.

I sit off to the side. Dancing isn't my area of expertise – what an understatement. I haven't danced in almost two years, since Annie and Finnick's wedding. I twirled with Prim then. I sigh. There are so many ghosts tonight.

But I can't evade the floor forever. A hand enters my field of vision and I look up to see Peeta. "May I have this dance?" he asks in a deep, theatrical voice. I laugh and shake my head ruefully.

"C'mon, Katniss," he pleads in his normal tone. "For Delly?" I hesitate. "For me?" he adds quietly.

I get to my feet and his eyes light up. He tugs me into the sea of dancers and places his hand on my waist. It's a waltz, I realize. I rest one hand on his shoulder and he takes the other. We spin around and there's no time to think. It's a full minute before I realize that I'm muttering, "One two three, one two three, one two three…" as we go. I really am out of practice.

I look up with a grin at my rusty dancing skills and receive a shock as Peeta's face is just inches away from mine. The dance requires partners to hold each other closer than I'd thought.

* * *

As we head for the train depot to return to Twelve, Annie gives both Peeta and me a hug. As the former is saying good-bye to my mother, she asks quietly what's taking so long.

"What?" I ask, thoroughly confused.

"You and Peeta," she explains. I shake my head and tell her she's imagining things, and then wince internally at my bad choice of words. But she picks this moment to stare at the wall and I make my escape.

But as we pull out of the station and the two women wave after us, I look at Peeta and wonder – is Annie right? Am I delaying the inevitable? I dismiss the thought. Peeta and I are good friends, nothing more. Our closeness is something born of two trips to the arena together.

I'm glad that he's here, though. Because he's a _very_ good friend.


	9. Chapter 9: Open it

**A/N: Fudge. I forgot about this story. Sorry, guys! Well, now summer break is here, so I'll update more often (hopefully). Enjoy this mope-fest :0**

* * *

I meander through the store, gazing at the merchandise. Chairs, tables, lamps… before the war, no one from the Seam—certainly not me—could afford to buy any of it. Now it's available for everybody. With a tiny smile on my face, I turn to the planting section. Peeta's taken to gardening and I promised I'd get him some seeds.

"Ma'am?" A man holds up a potted plant with light yellow flowers. "Would you care for some primroses?"

It's too much, too horrible to bear. I turn around abruptly and walk through the aisles as fast as I can to the checkout counter. Hurriedly I pay for the flour and jug of milk and then I'm out the door. It's all I can do not to start running, crying, or screaming.

Finally, finally, I make it to the Victors' Village and home. The moment I'm inside the door, I drop the grocery bag and run up the stairs to her room. I haven't touched it since I left for the Capitol three and a half years ago. The door is locked and through my tears, which are falling thick and fast, I don't think to search for the key. I don't even know if I still have it.

I'm reduced to banging on the door with my fists, sobbing, and finally draw back and kick it open. Rushing in, I peer around. The furniture is dusty but not faded, and I don't know why, but this bothers me. Then I realize: the curtains are drawn and yes, the furniture's fine, but it's too dark. She was so happy and full of light and her own room has been cast into shadows.

I rip open the shades, letting sunshine stream in. Dust motes swirl in the yellow glow. I stand there, looking at the familiar space, and finally collapse on her bed, sobbing. Clutch the pillow to my face. It no longer even smells like her. I go to pieces completely, barely able to breathe through my grief.

I barely hear Peeta get home above the sounds I'm making. He must understand what's happened to me, because he comes to the doorway but says nothing, makes no move to intervene. I cry until I have no tears left and lie there shaking with silent, heaving sobs ripping their way through me.

When I am able to sit up, I ache all over, as if my body has been bruised as much as my heart. Peeta watches me and I feel his concerned gaze like a burning laser. I get stiffly to my feet and stumble to the bathroom where I try to wash away all the memories, with no success.

I don't speak for the rest of the evening, except one brief exchange with Peeta.

"What am I going to do?" I ask, watching the fire as I have for so many, many nights now.

"Just keep going, I guess," he offers, pulling a loaf of bread from the oven. The fresh, doughy smell makes me remember.

"I'm sorry. I forgot to get the dill." As if it had only slipped my mind rather than being totally and completely eclipsed.

"It's fine, Katniss," he sighs, but not exasperatedly. Just sympathetic.

I go back to staring at the flames, wondering how to lose myself within them. Maybe it would be better to still have the Games, and continue to be the Girl on Fire, than suffer another day of this constant pain.

But "maybe" doesn't matter anymore. There's no going back.


	10. Chapter 10: Return it

**A/N: Wow. So much for "updating more (hopefully)." I haven't touched this since June ninth. I _won't_ make any promises now, okay? Because school has started, and that'd be high school, which will leave much less time for writing... well, I'm _hoping_ that won't be the case, but you never know. So, go ahead and read the chapter! And please review, because you know I love that.**

It is a holiday today, and once again I find myself pretending to smile as face after familiar face shows up at the door. The only truly happy expressions come from Haymitch, who's staggering drunk; and Delly and Jason, who are showing Eleanor off to everyone who will listen.

The guests also include Johanna, Greasy Sae, Annie and Finn, and my mother. There are a few people that Peeta knows from town, but I've never bothered to learn their names, just another sign of how messed-up I am.

I'm so out of it that I'm not even sure what holiday we're all celebrating. Before the war the word was nearly obsolete, but now there's a day off of work almost every month. Of course, I don't work anywhere, so what does it matter?

"'Lo," Haymitch slurs as he walks into me. I sidestep but am too late to avoid him, and end up having to grab Johanna's arm to steady myself. This room isn't large enough for so many people.

"Watch it," she snaps, and cuts off my apology by continuing her conversation with my mother. I'd be the first to point out how unlikely this friendship is, but it seems that with everyone convening around Annie's house, they're getting to know each other.

"So… ya got anythin' goin' on wi'h th'boy?" Haymitch asks, elbowing me in the ribs.

I shake my head. Why is everyone suddenly asking this question, and becoming so intent on the answer? The Games are over. I don't need to pretend anymore.

"Ya know, he's really somethin' special," my former mentor reminds me.

"I know," I say shortly. This is too much like the conversations we had on the train to the Quarter Quell. _You could live a hundred years and not deserve him_.

"Gonna give 'im somethin' for the holidays?"

"What?" I'm not really into the practice of gift giving, with seventeen years of my life spent too poor to spare anything for idle pleasures. It's all different now, but I still don't like to spend money on trifles, no matter who they're for.

"It's Christmas, sweetheart," Haymitch says. "_On the firs' day o' Chris… my true love…_" He warbles some tune from a carol that everyone's been singing lately, earning a few raised eyebrows and more than a few groans of dismay. Haymitch chuckles and drains his glass. "Ah, I'm not gonna do more, don' worry." He moves off, and I watch him go with bemusement and trepidation. Will I be expected to give everyone here a present?

"Katniss," Annie calls, "will you hold Finn for a moment?" Before I can say no, she plops him into my arms and ducks away to use the bathroom.

I shift the baby's weight so he's settled more comfortably. He really is extraordinarily like his father, Finnick. They share the same bronze locks and amazing blue-green eyes. But there is a hint of Annie here too, in Finn's pale skin and the flecks of brown in his irises.

Finn, oblivious to my examination, giggles and pulls on my hair that's just beginning to brush my shoulders after it was charred away last year. I catch his chubby toddler hand and feel a smile tug at my lips despite myself.

"That's what I like to see," Peeta murmurs in my ear, and reaches around me to tickle Finn. "You should smile more easily," he says. "It's a holiday."

"Yes, I've heard."

Peeta laughs, and then he says the words that I definitely do _not_ want to hear. "I got you something."

I hand Finn back to Annie, who thanks me and moves on. Turning back to Peeta, I wilt dramatically. "You really shouldn't have."

"But I did," he points out. "Here you go."

I seem to have exchanged one bulky armful for another—the brightly wrapped rectangular package that he hands me is very flat, but still nearly as big as Finn, and much more unwieldy. I move to untie the wide red ribbon, but Peeta stops me.

"You have to wait until tomorrow morning," he explains.

"Nobody said anything about that," I mumble, but I'm secretly glad. I don't want and have never wanted a gift, and besides, this seems to require some sort of reciprocation, one for which I don't have time.

In the morning, when the sun is barely up, Peeta watches as I carefully slide the shiny gold paper off of the frame. I can't help but gasp as the idyllic scene is revealed: thick dark trees edge a field of flowers, primroses and rue anemones prominent among them, and to one side, a small, ramshackle house that I recognize as my own.

Peeta has painted the Meadow.

"When did you do this?" I ask, amazed at the obvious effort that's been poured onto the canvas, and the fact that he must have done it all under my nose.

"During the first few months after I got back," he says. "You were… preoccupied. And I didn't have anything to do. Besides, Doctor Aurelius thought it might help."

Not under my nose, then. "And did it?"

"More than you can imagine."

I duck my head, embarrassment and chagrin flaming in my cheeks. "I didn't get you anything."

Peeta grins and pulls on my braid. "Silly Katniss," he says. "After everything, just being here with you is enough."


End file.
